


The Sins Of My Caretaker

by Enochianess



Series: Dirtiest white boy in America [12]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related, First Kiss, Gun Violence, M/M, POV Mickey Milkovich, Robbery, Season/Series 03, Shooting, Smoking, The Sins of My Caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 04:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7876177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enochianess/pseuds/Enochianess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 3 Episode 5 - Mickey focused</p><p>Lips against lips, it's the closest thing Mickey thinks he's ever felt to bliss. It’s soft and gentle, affectionate rather than heated and desperate. It sparks something deep inside and Mickey knows instantly that now he’s started kissing him, a dam has broken; he’ll never be able to stop. He knows how addictive Ian’s kisses will be, how easily one kiss will lead to another until his lips are bruised and swollen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sins Of My Caretaker

**Author's Note:**

> I can't get enough of Mickey Milkovich and I don't think his side of the story was explored enough on the show, so I'm writing his story canonically episode by episode and adding and expanding upon the scenes as I see fit (And yes, this does include smut, because their kiss and sex scenes were virtually nonexistent). All the works will be named after the episodes in the show.
> 
> *Gives you the bird because we're in the shameless fandom and this is the best way of expressing my affection and love for you all*
> 
> Obviously I do not take credit for the dialogue from the show; I have simply used it to aid my own story and exploration of Mickey.  
> The credit for those parts goes deservedly to the writers.

Ian Gallagher was a menace. Slowly but surely, he was crawling his way further and further beneath Mickey’s skin, winding his way into his bloodstream, filling all the cracks and crevices of his being. Mickey sometimes found himself thinking about the kid at the strangest of times, his mind wandering as to what the redhead was doing and whom he was with, and whether he was happy or sad. He’d be curled up with his arms wrapped protectively around his head as his dad beat him, and all he’d think about was how he hoped Ian had never been through the same thing; if Mickey found out anyone had touched him like that, he’d kill them without question.

When he wasn’t working or sleeping, Mickey was with Ian. He hadn’t fucked Angie since the day that half the neighborhood had gathered on Blake Collins’ lawn raring for a fight. He hadn’t fucked _anyone_ except for Ian recently. Seeing him with that old child-fucking bastard had been like being hit with a bucket of cold water. He didn’t want Ian fucking anyone else, because Ian belonged to _him_. And, he belonged to Ian too, really. Didn’t he? He didn’t want anyone else, didn’t care about anyone else. Ian was it for him now, whether he liked it or not. It was dangerous. Terrifying. He had no idea how he was going to keep up his façade. If he wasn’t fucking women anymore, someone was bound to get fucking suspicious sometime soon. He’d have to tread carefully. If Terry found out, they’d both be dead, and Mickey can’t let anything happy to Ian. He just can’t.

 

“You gotta stop doing this so early, man. These mornings are killin’ me.” Mickey murmured around the cigarette hanging limply between his lips.

Ian snorted, hitching his bag higher on his shoulder. “You don’t have to come, Mick. No one’s forcing you.”

Mickey fell into step behind the redhead when he started walking down the street. The kid made a good point, but Mickey chose to ignore it. He kind of liked their Saturday morning trips to the shitty obstacle course where Ian likes to practice his drills.

“You wanna get the bus?” Ian asked him.

“Nah, man. Can’t afford it.” Mickey sighed.

“We only got paid last week.”

“Yeah, well… shit happens.” Mickey said a little defensively.

Ian smiled at him apologetically and gave a small nod. “Maybe you could ask Linda to pay you weekly instead of monthly. I’m sure she won’t mind. She’s helped me out like that before. Easier to keep something in your pocket, y’know?”

Mickey snorted; it’d be funny if it weren’t so tragic. “Wouldn’t make a difference. I get paid per transaction for the other shit, remember? Quick cash.”

“Fiona spent all our money on an event at a club the other week. Lip and me had to scam it all back.”

“That supposed to make me feel better?”

“I’m just saying, it’s okay. I get it. It’s not a big deal.” Ian said with a shrug.

If it’d been anyone else, Mickey would’ve probably punched them. He didn’t want anyone’s pity, not for this and not for anything. But coming from Ian, it actually made him feel a little better because he knew it was coming from a good place and the kid would never pity him. It was embarrassing to not be able to afford a bus fare, but Mickey knew that Ian had probably struggled with the same thing once or twice. The Gallagher household was always scrounging for money, and without the quick turn around that Mickey could get from his runs, it must be incredibly tight sometimes. Not being able to afford the bus was a sharp reminder of the first few days at school when the other kids had laughed at him because he was dirty and his clothes were stained and torn. They hadn’t had enough money to pay the gas and electricity bills, and there was no way Terry was going to spend potential drug money on clothing for his children. Mickey had quickly solved the problem with a punch to the face and a couple of bloody noses, but he’d been self-conscious for a little while after that. He’d had so much other shit to deal with though that he’d soon forgotten all about it. So what if he’d been a little grimy? So what if he’d smelled kind of gross? He’d had about a million other things to worry about. He was older now, but it didn’t mean that the poverty didn’t wear him down thin. It didn’t mean that he wasn't still ashamed for having so little.

Ian patted him on the shoulder and then tugged at his arm. “Come on. It won’t take us long to walk. It’d do you good anyway. You spend too much time on the couch.”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?”

Ian turned to him with a huge smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and Mickey couldn’t help but roll his eyes and smile back.

 

Mickey watched as Ian started tire running, rifle held in both hands, his knees high as he tried to sprint through the staggered obstacles as quickly as he could. Mickey was supposed to be timing him, but he got bored about a half hour ago and started playing around with his gun instead. He sucked greedily on the cigarette in his mouth, enjoying the way the smoke settled heavily in his lungs and then drifted back up his throat. He was sat on an old tin roof, one leg dangling over the edge and the other bent at the knee so he could rest his arm on it. He felt relaxed. His dad and brother had no idea about this place, and even if they were to come looking, it was unlikely they’d ever find it.

Mickey knew that training was important to Ian, and that was why they were there at 9am on a Saturday. The two of them had been hanging out like this more and more lately, not even feeling the need to fuck. Mickey had always found other people’s company a little stifling before, but he felt content alone with Ian. Their silences weren’t uncomfortable. If anything, the quiet moments were the ones Mickey treasured most. Much to his embarrassment, the other week the two of them had been back to Lincoln Park to get away from everyone on the South Side for a little while, and Mickey had fallen asleep against Ian’s shoulder. He hadn’t been sleeping well because of his dad that week and he was completely exhausted. He thought Ian was going to punch him, thought he’d be mad that Mickey had drifted off and drooled on his shirt—anyone else certainly would have. But, if anything, Ian looked at him with more fondness than he had done before. He’d smiled sweetly, ruffled Mickey’s hair, and then asked if he felt better. Mickey had just stared at him. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of those looks. He didn’t know how to handle it.

“Hey. You know that guy you beat the shit out of at that club? He wants me to sneak into his mansion, take all of his crap.” Ian said.

“Really? Hi-larious.” Mickey replied as he pulled the trigger a couple of times, the loud gunshots echoing in the small space.

“He can’t get it himself. Divorce. Says I can take whatever I want. He’s loaded. You want in?” Ian asked, crawling on the floor as if beneath a length of barbed wire.

Mickey fired again, not aiming at anything in particular but accidentally shooting a little too close to where Ian was still moving across the floor.

“Jesus! Use blanks, maybe? _Fuck.”_

“Can I bring my cousins?” Mickey asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’m in.” Mickey looked down and took a deep breath, summoning up the courage to dig deeper into a subject he didn’t really want to know more about. He needed to know something though. It’d been driving him insane. He couldn’t ask outright, but he figured he could say something casual, something that wouldn’t send Ian on the defense. So, taking a long drag of his cigarette, he said, “I don’t know what you see in that geriatric viagroid.”

“He buys me stuff, orders me rooms service.” Ian explained, pointedly ignoring the clips Mickey continued to empty. Mickey was impressed that the kid didn’t so much as flinch. “He isn’t afraid to kiss me.”

And, that was like a sharp smack to the face. Ian knew how much Mickey was struggling over that, knew how sensitive the subject was, yet he just kept pushing. Mickey knew Ian wasn’t asking for much, not really, except for Mickey it was a big fucking deal. He hadn’t kissed anyone in years. He could probably count the number of times he’d tried it on one hand. It scared the hell out of him. He felt echoes of the shame his dad’s words had always invoked deep within him. He knew Ian wasn’t trying to punish him or hurt him, but it felt that way just the same. It was like there was one more person he’d let down, one more person he wasn’t enough for. And what was worse was that it was Ian this time; the one person he truly cared about, outside of his brothers and sister. There was a fear that kept rising up and choking him, one that just refused to stay buried, and he thought maybe it was time he faced it. He didn’t want to lose Ian. He _couldn’t_ lose Ian. The redhead was the only good thing he’d ever really had in his life, the one person who had made Mickey want to make something of himself and be a better person. Any positive personal growth he’d made over the past couple of years could be almost entirely attributed to the kid. So, maybe he could make that one little push. Perhaps, Mickey had gotten to the stage where he could break out from the chains his dad had tied him down with and prove to Ian that what they have is important to him, and that he was ready to make that next step and give him what he needed. He didn’t want Ian going after rich, old men just to satisfy a need Mickey had never had the balls to quench. He hated how his dad had twisted and broken him until he could no longer give the people he cared about what they needed. He hated that he was so afraid of everything, that he’d never learnt how to be anything other than a South Side thug. That’s not what Ian needed. Ian needed intimacy and love; Mickey didn’t understand either one of them. But, maybe, he could make a leap and kiss Ian like he wanted. Perhaps, he could do that one small thing at least. Offer Ian something, something that would prove that he’s in this, that he has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.

 

Mickey slid open the doors of the white van and rummaged around in the brown leather bag for the guns he’d brought for the occasion. He began handing them out, but then Ian started calling out behind him.

“Hey. Whoa. Guys, guys! No fucking guns, alright? It’s just a drunk old lady in there?”

Mickey bit his bottom lip, looking up at the house for a moment, and then nodded his head, taking the guns back from his cousins and returning them to the bag. If Ian didn’t want them to use guns, then Mickey wouldn’t insist on it. He trusted the kid, even if it did go against his better judgment; he always felt safer with a gun. He didn’t look too far in to the fact that he’d become so easy for Ian, that he’d do whatever was asked of him _within reason_. He didn’t need to look at that shit under a microscope.

He followed his cousins towards the house and then something struck him. Now was the moment. He had been thinking about it more and more over the past couple of days, and he thought maybe it was now or never. He didn’t want Ian to leave him for that wrinkly asshole. So, Mickey turned and ran back to Ian, jumped into the van and pressed his lips against his. And, lips against lips, it was the closest thing Mickey thought he’d ever felt to bliss. There had always been a level of ecstasy when they fucked, but this was different. This was intimate, and to Mickey’s surprise, he felt contentment, peace, _rightness._ It was soft and gentle, affectionate rather than heated and desperate. It sparked something deep inside and Mickey knew instantly that now he’d started kissing him, a dam had broken; he’d never be able to stop. He knew how addictive Ian’s kisses would be, how easily one kiss would lead to another until his lips were bruised and swollen. It was like all the emotional carnage just detonated and faded away. There was nothing scary about it, nothing at all, and Mickey hated himself for how long it’d taken him to do this. He understood now why Ian had been practically begging for it for the past few weeks. He’d been so _stupid._ But, God, he was in so much shit now because this was more than just meaningless fucking, wasn’t it? This was more than friendship. This for Mickey meant _commitment._ Mickey was never going to want to let Ian go. It should’ve been a warning—the thought of someone else’s hands on the redhead making him sick, the thought of Ian wanting someone else filling him with so much anger. It was because, in Mickey’s head, Ian belonged to him.

It physically hurt him when he tore away, but he knew it had to be chaste because they couldn’t be caught like this. Plus, he had a job to do. His cousins were bound to fuck up if they were left to do it alone. He ran back towards the house and flipped Ian off over his shoulder. After all, he was still Mickey Milkovich. Despite all the revelations he’d made, he was hardly going to wear his heart on his sleeve. He had to hold up his reputation. He didn’t want the kid to think he’d gone completely soft.

If Mickey had thought the house was grand from the outside, it was nothing compared to the inside. He could practically see the cash piling up. They grabbed everything they could: paintings, furniture, ornaments, etc. Every time he returned to the van to load up the goods, Ian looked at him with a sparkle in his eye; it was nothing that would alert his cousins, but Mickey knew what it meant. The kid looked so damn happy. They had almost grabbed everything they’d been asked to steal, Mickey picking up a bottle of something he expected was alcoholic and crazy expensive, when Mickey spotted the old grandfather clock. He pointed it out to his cousin, but quickly regretted ever attempting to lift it. The clock immediately started to tip, its weight too much for the two boys.

“Come on. Come on. _Fuck.”_ Mickey wheezed out with a grunt. “ _Come on.”_

The clock chimed as it fell and landed on his cousin; they were really in the shit now.

“Hey! Fuckers!” The old bastard’s psycho bitch of a wife yelled out.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck. Go!” Mickey cursed as they pushed the clock off to the side and made for the door.

“Fuckers!” The woman yelled, firing her rifle from the stairs. “Fuck! Fuck! Fucking-“

“No fucking way!” Mickey yelled as one of the bullets embedded itself in his ass and he leapt into the air, his hand moving to cover the wound as he hopped to the van.

“You got shot, Mickey!” Ian exclaimed. And, in that moment, Mickey wanted to fucking throttle him.

“Yes, I fucking know I got shot!” Mickey yelled back, the tires screeching as they sped away, the sound of gunshots following them down the street.

“Oh my God.” Ian said, panic laced into his voice.

“That looks bad, man.” One of his cousins said.

“No fucking shit.” Mickey bit out.

“I- I’ll call Ned. He’s a doctor; he can help.”

 

Mickey groaned when he was lifted from the van, Ian and his cousin carrying him into the Gallagher house.

“You kidding me?” Mickey said, leaning against the kitchen counter for support.

“Stay there.” Ian told him, pressing a cloth down on the wound.

“Aah!” Mickey yelled. It fucking hurt like a fucking motherfucker. He gritted his teeth and took a couple of deep breaths, counting down from ten. It didn’t work. It still fucking burnt. There was a _hole_ in his _ass cheek._ That was his best asset dammit. “Just one fucking old lady, huh?” Mickey was so pissed at Ian. But, he forgot all about that when the compression returned. “Aah! Ow! Ow!”

“Well, if it isn’t the toughest badass fag beater this side of the Chicago River.” The geriatric viagroid mocked, announcing his unwanted presence.

“Fuck off.” Mickey grunted, flipping him off. It made him so fucking pissed that he needed help from this asshole. Out of all the people…

Mickey felt like he was dying. He had no idea why it was taking so long to get a fucking bullet out. He couldn’t even begin to explain the fucking pain he was in. He couldn’t stop the shouts he was emitting, despite his efforts to remain stoic.

When the bullet was finally pulled out, Mickey yelled to high heaven. He’d been shot before, but it’d never hurt like this one.

“You’re almost done, Mickey.” Ian said. Mickey appreciated the encouragement but it wasn’t fucking helpful.

“Ian, what the fuck?” Fiona yelled over the racket of screaming children as she entered the kitchen. Mickey looked up to see the horrified look on her face. He didn’t blame her. Mickey was laid on her kitchen counter with his bare ass on show, blood everywhere and her boyfriend’s gay dad holding a bullet high in the air like a goddamn trophy. Not to mention the babies crying and children dancing on the furniture.

“I can explain this.” Ian murmured.

“Who the hell are you?”

Mickey turned to look in the living room and spotted a woman wearing a suit staring at them, a look of fierce disapproval on her face.

“I’m Britney Sturges from Child Protective Services.”

And, _shit._

“She just walked in.” Carl said with a shrug.

Then, just as the horribly tense moment became almost unbearable, Debbie came barging into the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. “Yes! Oh my God. I totally almost drowned a _slut!_ She was kicking and scratching, but I held my breath and hung on until she passed out! Oh, my God. Guess what? You do not “F” with Debbie Gallagher!” Debbie exclaimed. “Don’t “F” with me.”

“Debs.” Fiona said.

“Yeah. What?”

Fiona shook her head.

 

“This is your fucking fault.” Mickey complained from where he was laying facedown on Ian’s bed. Ian was stretched out on the floor beside him and he raised his head at Mickey’s comment. He'd been understandably quiet for the past couple of hours.

“How?”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘How?’ If you hadn’t forced me to steal all that shit for you then this would’ve never happened.”

Ian snorted. “I didn’t _force you_ to do anything. I distinctly remember saying, ‘You want in?’ You didn’t have to help out.”

“Yeah well, your fucking ass never could've gotten the job done. You’d be down the station by now.”

“So, what’re you complaining about then?”

“I got fucking shot, Ian! My ass is on fucking fire.”

Mickey grumbled when he heard Ian laughing from the floor. Despite the pain he was in he had to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling; what could he say, the kid’s laugh was infectious.

“This ain’t funny.”

“Come on, Mick!”

“I’ll fucking shoot _you_ next time. See how it feels and then laugh.”

It was silent for a moment and then Mickey watched as Ian got to his feet and stepped closer to the bed. “Shove over. I can’t sleep down there.”

Mickey shuffled over carefully, wincing the entire time. He couldn’t help but sigh though when Ian’s weight settled down beside him, one of his hands sweeping comfortingly down Mickey’s back.

“I’m sorry.” Ian murmured.

Mickey grunted, his eyes falling shut as Ian continued his ministrations.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How the fuck are you gonna do that? It’s not like we can fuck now, can we?”

“No, but when you’re all healed up.”

Mickey sighed heavily. “Fuck you. I gotta holdout now.”

Ian shifted closer and pressed his lips lightly to Mickey’s forehead. “I’ll make it worth the wait. I promise.”

“You better.”

And then Ian’s lips were on Mickey’s again. The kiss was soft and chaste, but rather than pulling back like Mickey thought he was going to, Ian turned his head slightly and slotted their mouths together more comfortably. He sighed into it, slid his fingertips into Mickey’s hair and tugged a little. Mickey couldn’t help the small moan that escaped him at the movement, and he pushed into the kiss harder to muffle the sound. Their lips moved quicker against each other, the amount of time between each kiss getting shorter and shorter, their breath coming out as small pants. Ian’s hand slid down, forgetting Mickey’s injured cheek, and Mickey hissed loudly.

“Sorry.” Ian whispered, pulling back.

“S’okay.”

“You’re really okay with this? You’re not just doing it because of what I said the other day?” Ian asked hesitantly.

“Ian, if I didn’t want to kiss you, do you really think I’d be doing it? I mean, _come on.”_

Ian laughed. “I guess not. Just didn’t think you’d ever do it.”

“I- I’ve never really liked it before. I didn’t wanna ruin anything.” 

“Do you like it now? With me?”

“It’s okay, I guess.” Mickey said with a small shrug, a smirk stretching on his face.

“Asshole.” Ian replied, shoving lightly at Mickey’s shoulder.

Mickey hummed and closed his eyes again. It’d been a long day and the heat of Ian beside him was making him sleepy. "Are you okay? I mean, I know they're gonna be carting you off to God knows where in the morning."

Ian let out a heavy breath. "No- Yes. I don't know. I hate it at those places, but it's nothing I haven't done before. I'll cope."

"Well, you let me know if there's anyone I gotta mess with." Mickey teased.

Ian snorted. "Yeah, I'd like to see that."

"Shut up, asshole."

“You want me to get back on the floor?”

“Nah. This is fine.”

“Okay. Get some sleep, Mick.” Ian said softly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

And there, lying in Ian’s bed with Ian plastered against his side, Mickey fell into the easiest and most peaceful sleep he’d had in years. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://enochianess.tumblr.com) and [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCASBQ68lbb2CWPhhZuRmC_A)
> 
> If you liked it, please leave kudos!  
> And feel free to yell at me for taking a whole year to get this fic done. Kudos to you if you stuck around.


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